Garfield Minus Garfield
by Colustray
Summary: Jon Arbuckle lives alone. Or does he? A mysterious cat makes him question his sanity in this psychological thriller.
1. Chapter 1: Close Encounters

Chapter 1: Close Encounters

Jon Arbuckle lived alone in a normal house in the throes of mundane suburbia. He was still quite young, but he looked on the cusp of middle age. Jon was clearly not a man who frequently exercised. His arms were flabby and he had a small belly. He was also quite pale, since he almost never left the house except for his work: a monotonous desk job that left him plenty of time for reflection on his failures.

Jon lived alone. He liked it that way. He had never seen much use for friends, and his attempts at romantic love failed miserably. But he supposed, in the dark corners of his mind, that he was lonely. His only companion was a small, enthusiastic dog named Odie. Jon liked that Odie was earnest, and fanatically devoted to him. Odie liked that Jon brought him food.

It was a cold, dreary Monday. A crisp, November breeze penetrated the cover of Jon's blankets, an unwelcome intruder that woke him suddenly, from a dark and disturbing dream. Jon's fingers clawed clumsily at the lamp on the bedside table beside him. There was a click, and the room flooded with light. Breathing softly, Jon closed his eyes and lay for a little while longer, immobile. Finally, when he could not persuade his body to go back to sleep, he tore at the sheets and got to his feet, too quickly. Blood rushed to his head, and he was temporarily blind. When his eyes began functioning properly again, Jon began pulling on a moth-eaten old suit with ruffles that could've been considered cool a very long time ago. He began hopping on one foot, the other, stuck in his pant leg. Still hopping, he engaged in a furious disagreement with his zipper, swearing under his breath all the while.

"I HATE Mondays!" he roared, as the pants he was forcing himself into split a seam at the waist.

"Me too." said a voice.

Jon whirled around so fast he tore straight through the left pant leg. Comical and sweating, despite the cold now permeating his small bedroom, he looked deranged. His expression was one of mingled fear and rage, still fierce from the struggle with his zipper. His hair, mediocre at the best of times, stood up on end as though he had been electrified.

Jon didn't see anyone in the room. He opened his bedroom door and peered out into the darkened hallway. Silence greeted him like an old friend.

"Hello?" He questioned the air, his voice high and bright, like a child's.

Nothing answered him. Nothing was dependable that way.

Suddenly Jon felt vulnerable and embarrassed to be staring into the darkness, undressed. Shaking a little, he shut the door, and tugged himself out of his ruined pants and into a looser pair.

The voice was on his mind all the way to work.


	2. Chapter 2: The Animal in the Walls

Chapter 2: The Animal in the Walls

Jon returned home from work as dusk fell. It had been a long, exhausting day, and he was still dwelling on the voice he had heard that morning. He had long since put it off as a fantasy in the early morning (after all, when I man is expected to wake up at 7 in the morning to go to work, he is bound to imagine some strange things when barely awake), but even his co-workers had seemed to notice that something was wrong. Jon would be dealing with a client, then suddenly drift into a deep contemplation of his desk lamp, as though it greatly disturbed him. He would only awake from his deep reverie when the client would shout his name angrily, whereupon he would return to real life in a disoriented daze, his hair standing on end, attempting to file his client's information under the wrong name.

Jon felt like going to bed the moment he got home, escaping from this world in a wonderful dream. But nowadays, Jon's dreams were not the light and happy dreams of yesteryear. Now, they all involved a dark pit, with him standing on the brink. These dreams all seemed to end in the same way: Jon would stare into the abyss, and throw himself in headfirst.

As Jon opened his front door, glad for this day to be over at last, he was greeted enthusiastically by his dog Odie. Grinning with relief, Jon picked up Odie and began scratching him vigorously behind the ears. Odie squirmed and licked Jon's face. Jon laughed and put Odie down.

"Who's a good dog?" he asked, rhetorically.

Odie looked up at him with wide eyes, as if to say _Ooh, Me! Me!_.

Jon laughed again as he refilled Odie's food bowl. He began bustling about the kitchen, his cares gone, as he prepared to have dinner with his best friend. He poured Odie some more water and opened a packet of microwavable lasagna. As Odie lapped happily, Jon watched, as he waited for his own dinner to be ready. There was a _Ding! _and the microwave door popped open. Jon pulled it out cheerfully and laid it on the table to cool as he threw the packaging away and began cleaning up. It was a tedious job, but Odie was frolicking merrily about his heels, and before long the dishes were washed and Jon could eat. He was already sitting in his customary chair at the square table before he saw it.

His lasagna was gone.

Jon stared for a moment, then reached over to the spot where his meal had been, as though checking to see if his eyes were misleading him. As his hand passed over the formerly smooth surface of the table, he could feel long gashes in the wood that had not been there before, as though someone had gouged the table with a knife. They were surprisingly deep. Whatever made them seemed to have claws.

Jon looked around the room, his happiness gone, flicked off, like a light switch. Suddenly he felt as though he could stand no longer, and collapsed into his chair at the table. But the table felt alien and contaminated now, and Jon couldn't bare to look at it anymore. He closed his eyes and held his head, praying to a God he didn't believe in that it was all a dream and he would wake up tomorrow and his table would be restored to normal and the only voices he would hear would be the yell of his furious boss. But the world refused to return to normal. Although Jon's eyes were closed, his ears were working just fine. As Jon sat there, trying to deny that anything was wrong, he began to hear, ever so slowly, a scrabbling and scratching noise. Thinking Odie wanted his attention (although Odie had never made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end before), Jon reluctantly opened his eyes. But Odie wasn't moving. In fact, Odie was rooted to the spot, and he appeared to be staring intently at the wall behind Jon's head. Jon whirled around to peer behind him.

The scratching sound was inside the wall. There it was again, a clawing sound within the paneling, as if some great, large animal was working it's way through the woodwork.

Jon had had enough. He was tired, he couldn't deal with all this in the same day. He reached for the phone and dialed 9-1-1.


	3. Chapter 3: Cat and Mouse

Chapter 3: Cat and Mouse

"Hello this is 9-1-1 what is the nature of your emergency?"

"There is a wild animal in my house and I'm afraid it's going to attack me!"

"What kind of animal is it, sir?"

"I don't know! Something with huge claws! Just get somebody down here and do something about it!"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down. Now, what do you mean you don't know what kind of animal it is?"

"Well, I haven't actually seen it, but it's big, and it has claws."

You haven't seen it? How do you know it's there?"

"It scratched my table! It ate my lasagna!"

"Um… are you sure you aren't imagining this animal?"

"NO I AM NOT IMAGINING IT!" Jon roared into the receiver, his voice becoming increasingly high-pitched and hysterical, "It keeps scratching about in there, and I can hear it in the walls, and…" He trailed off for a moment before continuing.

"It spoke to me" he said, quietly.

There was silence on the other end for a moment.

"You will be fined for prank calling 9-1-1. Please use this line only for emergencies in the future. Good bye."

And abruptly, Jon was listening to static. He put the receiver down, shaking with rage and finding, to his surprise, that all was silent. He stared at the wall, confused.

A ball bumped into the toe of his shoe. Odie was bouncing along toward him, lolling his tongue almost to the ground, playful and happy. Jon bent down to pet his dog, not sure what to do next. Then, as swiftly as the thought had come to him, the raced to the table to examine it. It was as smooth as the day he had first bought it, and what was worst, his lasagna was sitting on it, untouched, now cold.

At the sight of it sitting there, Jon's stomach gave a rumble. But he felt too nauseated to even contemplate eating it now. All he wanted to do was sleep. He lay down on the couch, too tired even to drag himself to his bedroom. Odie jumped up onto the couch. Usually this would be unwelcome, but tonight, Jon hugged Odie close to him and felt the warmth on his chest as he drifted off into deep sleep.


	4. Chapter 4: The Dogs of War

Chapter 4: The Dogs of War

Jon woke up on the couch. He was cold; Odie had long since left, leaving only an imprint on his shirt from the night before to indicate he had been there at all. Jon lept out of bed and checked the digital clock on his microwave, rubbing his stiff neck and yawning. He had slightly overslept. Reluctantly, Jon began to get ready for work, pulling on his customary too-small suit, straightening his crumpled tie, peering at his own pudgy face in the mirror, and finally, attacking his hair with a very wet comb. Once he was satisfied that his appearance was the best it was ever going to look, Jon grabbed his briefcase and hurried out the door.

Jon was determined to forget the events of last night, and he was proud to say that so far he was doing a very good job of it. It was a cool Tuesday, not so cold as yesterday, and according to the weatherman, the temperature was on an upswing. Even his mildly depressing job seemed less menial. Sure, Jon was shaken, terrified, and almost convinced he was losing his mind. But at work, he didn't have to think. But there was still a nagging worry in the back of his mind: What would happen when he got home?

The workday that was usually far too long seemed to fly by. The longer the day went by, the more fleeting was Jon's sense of safety that he had felt this morning. As he wheeled the car into his familiar driveway, Jon felt a mounting sense of dread. Nonetheless, Jon tried to be brave as he opened the door, grinning broadly and stretching out his arms, waiting for Odie to bound into them and begin licking his face.

His grin started to fade; he was waiting far too long. Odie had greeted him at the door, a bouncing bundle of energy, for years without fail.

"Odie?" he called, smile still not completely gone from his face.

Silence greeted him, like it so often did.

"Odie?" he shouted again, a little louder and more high-pitched this time.

He could hear his voice echoing throughout his empty house.

Jon walked into the house. It was dark. Jon reached for a light switch and flicked it on, to no avail. The lights weren't working, for some reason.

Peering into the semi-darkness, Jon found his way to the kitchen. He refilled Odie's food bowl and shook it loudly, calling Odie's name. After a little while, Jon gave up and microwaved some fish for dinner. He was puzzled by Odie's behavior, and quite worried, considering the strange things that happened yesterday. However, at this point, Jon's premise was still that yesterday was a distinctly unpleasant dream, with no grounds in reality. But a thought nagged at the corner of his mind. He hadn't seen Odie since last night…

The microwave beeped. His fish was ready. Jon brought his dinner to the square table at which he ate. He distrusted this table since yesterday's events, but felt it would be rather giving up to eat somewhere else, and he didn't want to lose all grip on normalcy.

Jon went back to the kitchen to wash up, then walked back to the square table to eat his fish. It was then that he saw the white lump, criss-crossed with streaks of red, lying motionless under the table.


	5. Chapter 5: Confrontation

Chapter 5: Confrontation

Odie was lying under the square table, his fur matted with dried blood. Jon grabbed the dog's frail body and lifted him onto the table. Odie stirred feebly, and Jon's heart lurched into his throat.

"Odie… Please don't die… Oh, don't die on me!" breathed Jon, fumbling for the first aid kit he kept in the table drawer.

"The dog won't die." came a voice from behind him. Jon had heard this voice before, but he did not want to believe it.

Jon spun around. There, standing unnaturally on its hind legs, on the kitchen tiles behind him, was a monstrous cat. It was immensely fat and bright orange. It seemed to fill the entire darkened kitchen, and although Jon couldn't see its eyes, he could see its mouth curve into a slight smile.

"What have you done to my dog?" demanded Jon, trembling only slightly. He was exceptionally proud that he managed to speak coherently at all.

"Don't worry, if I had wanted him dead it would have happened hours ago." said the cat, almost lazily, but with an edge of malice in its voice.

Jon's head was spinning. Here he was, talking to a cat, a cat! And what's more - Jon shuddered to think about it - the cat had been driving him insane for the past two days. Thoughts raced through Jon's mind. He had so many questions but he didn't really want to ask them. If he did, he would be giving in to the hallucination, making it real. And something about the cat's cruel voice unnerved him.

"My lasagna - " Jon stuttered.

"It was delicious." said the cat.

"The table - "

The cat held its front paws up in front of its face, giving Jon a flash of long, white claws, far bigger than any normal cat's, before retracting them. It looked at Jon, as though waiting for a compliment.

"Who are you?" Jon said after a slight pause. The cat cocked its head and considered the question.

"My name," said the cat smiling widely and showing off razor-sharp fangs, "is Garfield." There was an air of presentation about it, as though he expected Jon to recognize the name.

There was another pause. Garfield stared at Jon with those inhuman, vertical pupils. Finally, Jon spoke.

"But… Why me?"

"We are so alike, Jon Arbuckle." Garfield's voice was silky and he seemed to put effort into pronouncing every syllable of Jon's name. "Both shunned by society, both a little chubby, both… alone."

"I'm not alone!" cried Jon "I have Odie! Well… I had Odie."

"I have told you! He is not dead, you fool!" Garfield's patience seemed to be waning.

"Yeah, then what is he? What did you do to him?"

"The dog was too stupid to get out of my way. I kicked him off the table."

Jon was silent. He began to apply gauze to any part of Odie's fur that he could find blood on, which was most of it.

"I'm not alone." he mumbled defiantly.

"Remember Sally?" said Garfield, and those unnatural eyes seemed to light up in the delight of dredging up Jon's romantic failures. "What about Penelope? Or, how about… Liz?"

Jon winced. Liz had been his only really long-term relationship, but he had blown it. If only he hadn't been so stupid!

"Yes…" purred the cat, obviously taking pleasure in Jon's pain. "As I recall, your relationship ended…"

"Because of Odie." Jon's voice cracked and he began sobbing into Odie's blood-stained fur.

"Why not get rid of that pesky dog?" asked Garfield, sharp eyes fixed intently on Jon's face. "Why not make me your pet? I, who have so much in common with you?"

Jon looked up, his face equally smudged with tears and Odie's blood.

"Never!"

"So be it." said the cat, carefully enunciating each syllable and staring at Jon with those cold, calculating eyes. Then, just as abruptly as he had appeared, Garfield vanished.

Jon shook violently, crying harder than he could remember doing before in his life.

It took some time before he felt the warm lapping of Odie's tongue against his face, licking off tears and blood indiscriminately. He looked up, surprised that Odie had made such a swift recovery, only to find a perfectly healthy Odie, his tail wagging slightly, sitting on his lab and licking his face.

Jon stared, his already overworked mind putting two and two together very slowly. If Odie was fine, where was all the blood coming from…? Jon looked down to see a carving knife, clutched in his left hand, imbedded in his own stomach.

Jon dialed 9-1-1.

"Bleeding…" he murmured into the receiver, and slumped to the floor.


	6. Chapter 6: Resurrection

Chapter 6: Resurrection

Jon awoke six hours later in a hospital bed early Friday morning. At once he started and tried to leap up from the bed, but a sharp pain flashed across his abdomen. He gave a short gasp and fell back into his bed. Jon put a hand to his stomach and he could feel a largish strip of gauze bound tight around his slightly plump middle. That was where….

"You're up, I see!" declared a jaunty nurse in pink scrubs. She was latina and in her mid-thirties. Jon couldn't help noticing that she was rather pretty, although he had much graver things on his mind.

"Uh…" said Jon.

"No talking." she ordered. "Just lie still, now."

Jon lay. He was good at that.

The nurse busied herself with an IV that Jon noticed was attached to his left arm. Jon lay, as he was instructed. He began to slowly take in his surroundings. He was in the city's public hospital, Saint Mary's, judging from the insignia on the nurse's scrubs. He was also, as far as he knew, the only patient. The beds to the right and left of his were both empty, and the only sound he could hear was the steady beep of his heart monitor.

"How long have I been in here?"

"No talking!" the nurse reminded him.

Jon blushed.

"Just a day," the nurse added apologetically, "I called your work for you."

She smiled at him, and Jon smiled back.

He rested in the hospital for the rest of the day. The sprightly nurse, who Jon later learned was named Eliza (Liz, thought Jon, his heart sinking like a stone) promised to check on Odie for him. Jon liked her. He liked the way she laughed, he liked the way her eyes lit up when she smiled, and he liked the way she got all serious whenever he winced in pain. Sometimes he would fake it just to see her whip her beautiful dark hair around and turn towards him, eyes wide and concerned.

Recovery also gave Jon time to think about his encounter with Garfield. First, as Jon assured himself, this established once and for all that the cat was real. Second, he was also sure that he definitely didn't want it to be his pet, and moreover, that he never wanted to see it again. But he couldn't tell anyone; his first 9-1-1 call had convinced him of that. Nobody would believe him.

When the time came for Jon to be discharged, he almost didn't want to go. The hospital felt safe and light, and Eliza was there to care for him. Jon shuddered to think of the horrors that might await him at home. But, home he must go, at least long enough to sell the house and and leave with Odie. Jon walked up to his front door, remembering the previous scenes of terror that awaited him as he entered the house. But today there was nothing. Just an empty house.

Jon flicked the switch. Unexpectedly, the light came on. Eliza must have fixed the lights, he thought, smiling. Or maybe you just imagined that they were broken in the first place, nagged a voice from the back of his mind.

Odie ran to greet him, blithe and barking, tongue lolling out of his mouth, spraying Jon with spots of drool. Jon laughed and picked up his best friend, cradling him in his arms, not even wincing when the excitable dog launched a kick at his injury. Relief, heavenly relief, flowed through every vein in his body.

As Jon lay in bed later that night, he thought about life. The stars outside the window bathed his room in a dim light, and he stared through it at the white plaster ceiling. The cat was gone, he reassured himself. Maybe it was real, but it's gone now, and it won't bother me any more.

How very wrong he was.


	7. Chapter 7: Confessions

Chapter 7: Confessions

That night, Jon had a nightmare.

He was in his office, trying to file a claim, but his client would not cooperate. Frustrated, Jon stood up sharply and glared at his tormentor. His client had Liz's face. Jon screamed, and the dream changed.

Jon was lying on his bed. Eliza was kissing him, softly and passionately. Jon groaned in pleasure. Eliza's hands were slowly making their way from his shoulders down his arms, to his waist, and from there down…

Eliza licked his cheek sensually. Jon moaned again, and began gently rubbing her shoulders, unsure of what to do with his hands. Eliza licked him again, and again, until her tongue lapped at his face almost uncomfortably. Jon opened his eyes to find she had turned into Odie. But before Jon had time to react, Odie was kicked out of the way by a gigantic foot. Odie whimpered, rolled over, and lay still.

Garfield ambled over to where Jon was lying, a steely smile playing across his face. In the dream he seemed gargantuan, at least 5 times the size of a normal cat, his ample bulk making the rest of him no less terrifying.

Jon wanted to scream, to cry out, but his dream self simply lay on the bed, helpless.

"Where was I?" said Garfield, with Liz's voice.

"Ah, yes," he hissed. "Here."

Garfield leaned into Jon's prostrate form and began to lick his face, tongue tough and scratchy. His hot breath filled Jon's nostrils, and he was repulsed by the creature that was gently pulling, tugging, and rubbing him into submission. Garfield's thick, coarse fur touched his arms, his hands, his navel.

Jon screamed. Snapping awake, he sat up in bed, straight-backed, as though called to attention.

A long minute passed. Jon was breathing hard, shocked and revolted by his own mind. After a small time it occurred to Jon to check his clock. It was 2 o'clock in the morning, but he was too afraid to go back to sleep, so he stayed awake until dawn broke the next day.

All day, people asked him why he was so pale and distracted. Jon's answer was always the same: "It's just my injury. I'll be back to normal in a few days." But that only brought more questions. His coworkers didn't believe his story of a masked assailant that he had invented, so as to prevent suspicions of a suicidal tendency.

"What did he steal?"

"My TV." lied Jon.

"But you said he jumped out the window! How could he have done that carrying a huge television?"

"I dunno, he must've stowed it in the car beforehand or something. Now can I please get back to work?"

Then the questioner would depart, grumbling, dissatisfied.

Jon returned home that day without any particular suspicions of misfortune. Of course he had some fear that the cat would return, but at this point he felt that Garfield had done him enough harm, and if he had any decency he would leave Jon alone.

Jon fixed himself his customary microwave dinner and Odie his customary canned one. Jon began to devour his burrito, rather rudely, it was true; but he had picked up some bad habits in his bachelorhood. As he ate, he began to think about everything that had happened in the past five days. Jon felt weird. That was an understatement of course; he couldn't possibly feel anything but weird after the events of the past few days. But he thought it was odd that Garfield would torment him, and then leave him. Maybe he had imagined the cat after all. Maybe he was a schizo. Maybe he ought to be locked up. Maybe he was a danger to himself ( Jon felt his stomach gingerly) and others.

Then suddenly his mind drifted, and without thinking about it, Jon was suddenly picturing the face of the pretty nurse, Eliza. It was as though Jon's mind had gone to screensaver and somebody had changed the picture from Liz's to Eliza's.

Without thinking about it, Jon reached for the telephone and began dialing Eliza's number. She had written it on his hand in case his wound started acting up again. It had washed off since, but without meaning to, Jon had memorized it.

The phone was ringing before Jon realized what he was doing. He almost hung up the phone out of sheer surprise, but it was too late; she answered.

"Hello?" her sweet, curious voice drifted out of the receiver. Jon took a deep breath.

"Hello. This is Jon." His voice only trembled a little.

"What's wrong? Are you experiencing complications?"

"No, no. Nothing like that."

"Then what is it?" She didn't seem annoyed. That was a good sign, so Jon soldered on.

"I was just wondering…"

"Yes?"

"?" Jon stammered, his tongue tripping over itself.

"Excuse me?"

"Are you doing anything, tomorrow?"

"Are you asking me out?"

Jon gulped. He knew it would end like this. It always did.

"Yes."

There was a small silence on the other end, like a sudden intake of breath.

"Sure." said Eliza "Why not?"

"Great!" said Jon, trying to sound less excited than he really was. "I'll pick you up around 7:30? Dinner and a movie, maybe?"

After they cleared up the details, Jon hung up the phone, an ecstatic smile breaking on to his face. Fanfare went off in his head, and the mildly unattractive 30-year old man did a little happy dance as he celebrated the first bit of luck he had in months.


	8. Chapter 8: Torment

Chapter 8: Torment

On the morning of his first date with Eliza, Jon Arbuckle was in a fantastic mood. Humming merrily to himself as he brushed his teeth, Jon thought about the week. It had been horrible, but, as he reminded himself, hadn't it had a good end? What if all previous events that week had been divinely inspired? What if God (who Jon had come to believe had a sick sense of humor) had devised this hellish carnival ride of insanity just so one lonely soul could find another? Eliza's acceptance of his offer had turned Jon's life completely around. He was happy, Jon told himself as he flossed a small, black who-knows-what from another dark recess of his mouth, and Lord knows, he needed that happiness. To top it all off, he didn't have to go to work today. Jon looked at his reflection in the mirror. He wasn't entirely pleased with what he saw there, but, as he thought cheerfully, he had never looked more confident.

Jon opened his closet. Tossing aside his old Teddy bear, Mr. Snookums, he reached deeper, finally closing his hand on what he wanted. His favorite powder-blue leisure suit, the one he usually wore on dates, was faded and moth-eaten from disuse. Jon pulled at a crinkled blue sleeve hopefully, but it was to nought, and in a couple of minutes Jon was out the door and in the car. He drove to the mall and located a trendy men's fashion outlet. Jon browsed for a while, but nothing seemed his style. Then, as he was walking back to his car, he saw it: a battered old thrift store, paint peeling on the sign, inviting him inside. Within, serendipity found him in the form of a bottle-green suit that might've been hip in the late 70's. Even the cashier eyed it suspiciously as Jon approached the register, but to Jon, every ruffle was pure gold.

By the time he had finished his shopping, including the purchase of a drab orange bow tie, it was early afternoon. Jon returned home and enjoyed a late lunch. Odie was impatient, though, and Jon had barely finished eating when he was practically dragged out the door into an afternoon walk. Upon returning, Jon fell into an armchair. He wasn't tired, but rather, nervous. As the date actually approached, it seemed to become more and more real. What had seemed a beautiful dream this morning now appeared increasingly impossible. What woman would really want to go out with him? Surely she meant to play a prank on him. Jon turned on the TV, to take his mind off things.

Then, in what seemed like no time at all, the sky had darkened, and it was evening. Jon, resplendent in his groovy new suit, picked Eliza up at her apartment. She was stunning in a slinky black dress. Jon grinned nervously as he helped her into his car. Then they were off, and in no time had arrived at the fanciest restaurant in town. As they made their way to their table, Jon and Eliza smiled at each other.

"Your table, sir." said their waiter. He was very old-fashioned and proper, with a carefully groomed mustache.

Jon looked at it. The table was covered by a white tablecloth, but Jon could see it was ripped in some places. Then he saw it: long deep gouges in the tablecloth, down to the grain of the table. Claw marks.

Jon looked desperately at Eliza. She didn't seem to notice anything.

"No, not that one. Pick another one!" said Jon, his heart racing, trying to appear normal, but failing. Eliza and their waiter each raised one eyebrow in a display of incredulous propriety.

"As you say, sir." said the waiter and directed them to another table, by a group of very noisy, very fat women.

As soon as their waiter had left, Eliza posed a question.

"What was all that about?"

"I'll- I'll tell you later."

Eliza tossed her hair, a little exasperatedly.

"I'm going to the ladies' room." she informed him.

Jon flapped his jaw, but he couldn't find anything to say. As Eliza departed, he sat in his seat, dumbstruck, trying to process what was happening. Not again, he thought with dread. He ordered a bottle of wine for the table, trying to act as if nothing was wrong. As Eliza returned, he engaged her in polite conversation. It was a little odd for both of them, but Jon was relieved that words kept coming, filling any would-be awkward gaps. It was easy to talk to her. He even got her to laugh a couple of times. She had a hearty, hilarious laugh. She never giggled, but laughed merrily, gasping with hilarity.

"Yip! Yip!"

Jon turned around. He was facing a chihuahua, which was continued to bark at him. He must've belonged to one of the fat women at the next table, but they were too engaged in gossip to bother. Jon wondered, irritatedly, whether dogs were allowed. He turned back to Eliza, expression relapsing into a smile.

"Yip! Yip!"

Shut up, thought Jon.

"Are you ready to order, sir?" said their suddenly returning waiter.

"What? Oh, yes." said John distractedly.

"And what will you have?"

"The salmon, please."

"And for the lady?"

"The lasagna, please." said Eliza.

Jon's eyes bugged.

"NO! She'll have the… the… salad!"

"No, I'll have the lasagna." said Eliza firmly.

"No, the salad!"

A few other customers were looking in their direction. Trying not to make a scene, Eliza leaned in close and whispered in his ear. Though her tone was somewhere between waspish and concerned, Jon couldn't help noticing just how pretty she was.

"What is wrong with you, Jon?" Eliza hissed.

Jon deflated. He looked up at their waiter, whose eyebrows were inching higher and higher up his large forehead.

"She'll have the lasagna." he said, defeated.

"Yip! Yip!"

Jon wished that the chihuahua would die a horrible, gruesome death.

The waiter departed, and Eliza began to question him. Jon avoided all of her attempts to diagnose him. He didn't like being thought of as a patient, but secretly enjoyed that she was so worried about him. Suddenly he saw a flurry of movement in the corner of his eye. Jon thought he could make out a bright orange tail…

"Yip! Yi-"

The chihuahua's bark suddenly turned into a horrific shriek. Jon whirled around. The dog was lying still, oozing blood onto the floor. Jon yelled and jumped out of his seat.

The restaurant went quiet. All eyes were on him.

"The dog! The dog…" Jon's voice caught in his throat.

His outstretched finger was pointed at a perfectly healthy chihuahua.

Jon ran out of the restaurant, sprinted to his car and took off home.

Eliza was left, sitting alone. She finished her meal, paid for everything, and got a taxi. It was only when she got home that she began to cry.


	9. Chapter 9: Final Destination

Garfield was waiting for Jon as soon as he stepped in the door. Curled in a large, furry ball on Jon's sofa, he was purring noiselessly as Jon approached.

"You… You…" Jon gasped.

"Me, me." said Garfield.

"You ruined my date!"

"I did." grinned Garfield, flashing his long, pointed teeth.

"I hate you!"

Full of rage, Jon actually threw a punch at Garfield. With one lazy flick of the cat's claw, Jon's flabby arm was tossed aside and his knuckles were soaked in blood.

"Plenty of people hate me," Garfield replied calmly, as Jon clasped his bleeding hand. "I am… what is the word… an anathema."

Jon held his bloody hand tightly, cursing every inch of fur on that demonic cat's body. What should he do?

"I have been called many names over the course of history. Sekhmet, Cait Sidhe, Bakeneko, the Cheshire Cat…"

"Why me?"

Garfield paused, looking disappointed to be interrupted.

"My dear Jon, you are a lonely soul. I am a physical manifestation of your loneliness, your past, your…" Garfield looked Jon up and down, and Jon felt an intense desire to pull in his stomach. "deficiencies."

"But I've moved on! I'm dating Eliza!"

"You don't think you're still dating her after tonight, do you?" "But you… you caused it!"

Garfield laughed. An evil laugh, a laugh that made Jon's hair stand on end.

"You never wanted it to succeed. You just want to go back to your lonely, depressing life. Deep down you know you don't have the courage to step out of your shell and try anything new! Why do you wear those horrible retro suits? You live through your past because you know your future isn't going anywhere." Garfield ranted. Then he licked his narrow lips and said, in a lower voice: "You can't even get rid of your old teddy bear."

Jon's hard face suddenly softened. The thought of Mr. Snookums brought back memories of his childhood. A bear. A blanket. Candles on the windowsill. His adoring mother and father. A little boy on a big farm, with no one his age to talk to. Garfield's menacing voice broke his recollections.

"You keep animals as substitutes for friends, like you always did growing up. You're pathetic."

Jon's eyes were swimming. Suddenly, a face broke through his thoughts. Eliza. Eliza! Jon faced his enemy, eyes narrowed in destructive purpose. Then, abruptly, he ran out of the room.

"Running away?" the cat called after him, but Jon was already off. He raced to his closet and grabbed his bear.

"What are you doing? Stop that!" said Garfield, a note of panic in his voice for the first time.

"Odie!" Jon whistled. Out came the loping dog, excitement brewing in his naive little face.

"Get!" said Jon, pointing at Mr. Snookums. Odie enthusiastically began ripping the stuffing out of Jon's poor old bear.

"NO! What are you doing?" moaned Garfield from the other room.

"I can't let my past get in the way of the future." said Jon, calmly, as he watched his childhood being shredded by his best friend. Garfield howled in pain, and began lumbering at Odie. Jon stood between them. He wasn't afraid anymore. Garfield was disintegrating before his eyes. It was as though he was made of sand. Then, abruptly, he was gone. Jon sat down on the newly vacated couch, holding his head in his bloodstained hands, as a playful Odie finished gnawing the corpse of his old bear. Jon stood back up. He went to the sink and washed his hands. Then he grabbed the telephone and dialed Eliza's number.

"Hello? Eliza, this is Jon. Look, I'm sorry about last night. I was so afraid of commitment I just… freaked out. Please, please, please will you give me one more chance?" He could tell she was on the line because of her soft breathing. Slowly, the clock ticked away. Every second seemed an hour. Finally she said: "Okay."

And Jon Arbuckle was happy.

The En


End file.
